Two days passed. Captain Tilney became a regular topic when Eleanor, her brother, and I were together—which was becoming more and more often as Henry increasingly spent his afternoons in our company. Henry and I had not had a real conversation since the incident outside his mother's room, and though our interactions were comfortable, I still did not feel as though the ground between us had been fully mended. He was more reserved, holding back when he would have barreled me with some argument. Eleanor still got the full effect, which made it all the more noticeable when he made attempts to modify his usual mode of address when directing an answer to me.

In these conversations on Captain Tilney, I was surprised that both Eleanor and Henry felt that Isabella's lack of fortune was a significant barrier to the engagement. Henry insisted Frederick would not dare ask his father for permission face to face, and so there was no danger in an encounter that would force me to leave. In the two days since James's letter had arrived, there were no tidings of Captain Tilney.

The General, meanwhile, though offended every morning by his remissness in writing, was free from any real anxiety about him. The General had not eased on his concern over my pleasure at Northanger. He often expressed uneasiness that I might grow tired of the same employments day to day, the same society we encountered (which was little). He often spoke of the Lady Frasers who were out of the country, and would talk of having a large party to dinner, but then in the next breath say what a dead time of the year it was and how it could not be. And at the end of this familiar speech, newly today he was telling Henry that when he next went to Woodston, we would take him by surprise there some day or other, and dine with him.

Henry seemed delighted with the prospect, and as I had long wished to see Woodston after hearing so much about it, seconded the notion as superb. As he was required to go to Woodston on monday two days hence for a parish meeting, it was fixed that we should all come on Wednesday.

Later, when Eleanor and I were in the sitting room, he came and said, "I am come, ladies, in a very moralizing strain, to observe that our pleasures in this world are always to be paid for, and that we often purchase them at a great disadvantage, giving ready-monied actual happiness for a draft on the future, that may not be honored. Witness myself, at this present hour. Because I am to hope for the satisfaction of seeing you at Woodston on Wednesday, which bad weather, or twenty other causes, may prevent, I must go away directly, two days before I intended it."

"Go away?" I asked, surprised. "Why must you go so early?"

"Why? How can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost in frightening my old housekeeper out of her wits, because I must og and prepare a dinner for you, to be sure."

"Oh! Not seriously?"

"Aye, and sadly too, for I had much rather stay."

"But how can you think of such a thing, after what the General said? When he so particularly desired you not to give yourself any trouble, because anything would do."

Henry only smiled.

I tried again. "I am sure it is quite unnecessary upon your sister's account and mine. You must know it to be so. And the General made such a point of your providing nothing extraordinary. Besides, even if he had not said half so much as he did, he has always such an excellent dinner at home, that sitting down to a middling one for one day could not signify."

"I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my own. Good-bye, Miss Tilney." He turned to his sister, saying, "As tomorrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I shall attend my own parish meeting, and see you on Wednesday."

And he went. His judgment on the matter soon obliged me to give him credit for being right, however disagreeable that was. I had discovered myself many times that the General was very particular in his eating, but why should he say one thing so positively and mean another all the while! It was most unaccountable. How were people, at that rate, to be understood?

The four days wait went very slowly for me. I grew tired of the woods and shrubberies, and my morning rides alone were not the same. I found the abbey itself to feel so much like my own house now, that it was not thrilling in the ways it had been initially. Though I continued on my normal schedule, I could do nothing but wish for Wednesday to come.

When the day finally arrived, it was not wet as I had gloomily predicted, but fair and temperate. Just as I expected, Sir Harry was not one of the party, though what excuse he had given to the General I knew not.

We arrived after a two hour carriage ride.

I honestly did not have any expectation of the place. With each fresh sight as we approached, there was much to admire in the neat houses, shops, and greenery we passed. At the far end of the village, set up rather apart from the rest, stood the parsonage. It looked rather new, made from stone. We entered through a set of green gates, the path curving in a semicircular path toward the house. As we pulled up the door, Henry, a large Newfoundland puppy, and two or three terriers, were ready to receive us.

I was first out of the carriage. Henry came forward and handed me down, his grip firm and reassuring. The sun's glow made the shrubs and flowers positively burst with color, the air fragrant with the smell of spring.

And I felt happy. So very happy.

We entered the house, and the General, always seeking my opinion—though I could not understand why he should, surely I had demonstrated my lack of appreciation for many of the finer things—he asked what I though of the room.

Hesitantly, I said the only thought that had occurred to me. "I think it the most comfortable room in the world."

"Well, Henry," the General said with a light in his eyes, "the most comfortable in the world? Far be it from me to say otherwise."

Henry lifted one eyebrow, and we continued to be shown about the place, going through to the grounds in the back, and several other rooms in the house after that. There was one room in particular, which looked like it might have been the drawing-room, though it was unfurnished.

The room in was prettily shaped, with windows reaching to the ground and a view over green meadows. "Oh!" I said, overcoming my self-consciousness, "Why do you not fit up this room, Mr. Tilney? What a pity not to have it fitted up. It is the prettiest room I ever saw."

"I trust," said the General, with a satisfied smile, "that it will very speedily be furnished. It waits only for a lady's taste."

The significance of this remark was lost to me, as I was only half listening. "Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else." I went closer to the window. "Oh! What a sweet little cottage there is among the trees—apple trees, too! It is the prettiest cottage!"

"You like it—you approve it as an object—it is enough. Henry, remember that Robinson is spoken to about it. The cottage remains."

The General's words recalled my consciousness once again, and I blushed deeply, the heat creeping up my neck. I looked to the floor, and said nothing more. Though it was a compliment, it felt wrong for him to have said it—indeed, I should never have commented on the property so specifically. I dared not look at Henry either, but kept close to Eleanor's side as the General pointedly applied to me for my choice of the color of wallpaper and hangings. Nothing like an opinion on the subject could be drawn from me, however, and we soon quit the room for the ornamental gardens.

"Henry has done a great deal to it in the past year," Eleanor said to me as we walked. I had sufficiently recovered by then to think it prettier than any pleasure-ground I had been in before—though I did not say so. There were other meadows after that, and through part of the village, then a visit to the stables to see some improvements. There I observed privately to Eleanor that her brother's horses must be very happy here.

He overheard my remark, and I realized he was standing far closer than before. "I'm glad you approve. And how have you two been without me? Desolated and dull, I know you need not answer."

Eleanor smiled and said, "Of course Henry, you are quite right. There was not room for any other emotion."

"Excellent, Excellent," he said, returning the smile.

It was the first time we had been away from the General, who was growing more annoying hourly. His habit of answering for Henry—though I'd noticed it before—it had never bothered me so much as it did today. We were in Henry's home after all, though it was attached to his living. It might technically be owned by the General, but could he not allow Henry to have any sense of independence?

Before the opportunity was lost, I said, "Mr. Tilney, I hope you will not take for granted an opinion uttered with out any thought—if you planned to tear down that cottage in the apple orchard, I wish you would not stay on my account. The General's order made me feel quite uncomfortable."

There was a glimmer of something behind his eyes. "Nay, the cottage is a favorite feature of mine. It is my father who wanted it removed." His mouth bent into a smile, and reached into the front pocket of his waistcoat. "As he values your opinion so highly, he will finally stop pressing me on the subject. But I am sorry for any discomfort he caused."

From his pocket he retrieved a long-chained watch. "It is nearly four. Let us go down to dine."

The abundance of the dinner did not seem to create the smallest astonishment in the General. Though he looked several times at the side-table for cold meat which was not there, he ate heartily. Henry's housekeeper had done well.

After coffee, it was nearly six and the carriage again received us. The ride home was spent in reflection, primarily, as all of us had had a splendid day. Henry had promised to return on the morrow, and all was well.